


Ocean Avenue

by ussnicole



Series: Welcome to Suburbia [13]
Category: Yellowcard (Band)
Genre: Angst, Broken Heart, F/M, First Person, Love, Ocean Avenue, Oneshot, Songfic, Stars, Suburbia, Summer, Teenagers, Yellowcard, beach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 14:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12683370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ussnicole/pseuds/ussnicole
Summary: Welcome to heartbreak.





	Ocean Avenue

**_We would walk on the beach in our bare feet_ **

Lovers, hand in hand on the shore at night. Clear skies and stars as far as the eye can see, the soothing sound of the ocean and murmured words the only noise. Walking and talking and falling in love, oblivious to everything but each other. Barefoot and out too late, knowing they will both have to sneak back into their rooms when they get home.

**_If I could find you now, things would get better_ **

A boy sits alone on Ocean Avenue, on the cement wall that separates the sidewalk from the beach. He remembers when she was here, when she and he would sit for hours and talk about anything. He hops off the fence and walks down to Cherry Street, to the corner where they used to meet and steal kisses under street lamps. She is long gone, but he cannot forget her.

**_We’re looking up at the same night sky_ **

I’m: a contraction for the words “I” and “am.” Denoting an action by the speaker. She speaks this softly, hurriedly, letting it bleed into her next words like it is not important enough to have its own time falling from her lips.

Moving: a verb describing active motion. Also; relocating from one place to the next. She speaks this like it pains her, like the word has clawed its way out of her throat, spewing out to sit uneasily in the air.

To: a preposition indicating the direction, destination, or position of somebody. She speaks this like “I’m,” giving it no time to slip out of her mouth before she is chasing it with another word. It is lost on the breeze that ruffles her hair and chills him to the bone.

Franklin: a small town about 100 miles from Suburbia. She speaks this with a finality that drains the color from the words she has already spoken, hollow as they were. There are tears in her eyes and the sentence sits between them, pushing them away from each other.

**_I know somewhere, somehow we’ll be together_ **

I lay on my back on the beach, like I do almost every night; I have never left Suburbia. I tend to avoid the intersection at Ocean Avenue and Cherry Street. There are far too many memories there, and it hurts to be reminded of something I cannot change. I dream, though, staring at the sky and the stars we share even if we have nothing else in common.

I dream that someday, she will come back to me, and we will be together again.


End file.
